


A month of drabbles

by Stolen_Light



Category: Multi-Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stolen_Light/pseuds/Stolen_Light
Summary: In Lieu of NaNoWriMo, trying to write a drabble (well, a drabble-ish, I'm not going to hold myself to 100 words exactly if I don't feel like it.) a day for november!  We'll... see how many I can actually make it, but that's the goal!  Not tying myself to any particular fandom, but everything will be self-indulgent as heck.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: #DrabbleNovember 2020 Collection





	1. Don't You Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Don't you Dare"
> 
> A bit of She-Ra fluff set post-series. 116 words.

“Catra, please-- don’t!” It’s the last thing she heard, standing, hands wrapped around the lever that that would end the world. She hadn’t known, but she had known – should have known – if she’d been honest with herself, if she’d trusted Adora, if she’d only…

“Catra?” And Adora is standing there, tall, and golden and gorgeous, and – worried. She sits up and Adora’s asking “Dwelling, again?” with a glint in her eye. There’s an agreement they have, about the way to deal with unproductive brooding.

“Adora, don’t you da-“And Adora hits her with a tackle, back down onto the bed, and she’s laughing and Adora’s laughing, and for a moment, everything is just how it should be.


	2. Looks like we're going to be stuck here for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastion.

Now the kid’s asking why, and I don’t have an answer I can give him. Not a real one, anyhow. That soon he’s going to have to make a call, and I can already tell which way he’s leaning, and once the kid makes his call, everything’ll change.

I could lie, but I won’t do that to the kid again.

So instead, I tell him a truth. Truth is that I’ve got some doomshine, and now the kid’s got some black rye, and even the Bastion can wait a mite.

Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.


	3. "The skirt is supposed to be this short."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A deeply non-canonical Sailor Moon tidbit.

Usagi froze at the sound of Luna’s voice.

“Decades of studies by Kingdom scientists all show it to be the optimal configuration for a Senshi’s uniform.” The cat continued, but who…?

“But it’s so…” Usagi’s mother replied, trailing off as she tried to find the words. Wait, Usagi’s mother was talking to Luna!? Wait – Usagi’s mother knew about the Sailor Senshi!? This was a- a catastrophe, a—

“The base layer’s a unitard, if that makes you feel any better.”

“… It does, actually. Thank you, Luna.”

“My pleasure, Ikuko.”

“And Luna?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let my little girl get hurt.”

“Never.”


	4. (Hot Cocoa, or Coffee)

It is startling, the difference a single act can make.

Imagine, if you will, the moment. The Warrior of Light, come to Camp Dragonhead in desperation. Their companions arriving close after. All of them betrayed, wounded, hurting. The Elezen despairs at his missteps. Into this, my son brings mugs of hot cocoa, and a kind word.

And from this, some months later, came the end of the Dragonsong War.

Perhaps there were other paths – other ways that the Warrior of Light might have come to Ishgard. Perhaps ways that my son might have….

No. Stop writing, we’ll start it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -From a discarded draft page of Heavensward, by Count Edmont de Fortemps


	5. "How long have you been standing there?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit of She-ra! Not a drabble, and I struggled a bit with flow, here, but I still enjoyed writing it.

The elite squad of Princesses stood, with their heroic captain at their head, facing off against the Horde soldiers, and their feline force-captain. At some unspoken signal, the fight broke out. The aquamancer and the floramancer quickly struck forward, knocking several Horde soldiers off their feet. The feline force-captain leapt over the attack and leaped for the princess’ sword-wielding champion. The captain raised his bow, lining up the shot-

“Bow?”

Bow’s head whipped around, to see Adora standing in the doorway, looking at him and his table of hand-carved figurines

“How long have you been standing there?” He asked, resigned.

“Oh, not long – I didn’t know the Alliance had these kind of planning exercises!” And the ex-Hordeswoman surged into the room, looking at the table and Bow’s figures scattered across it, “Oh, those are so detailed! Did you _make_ these?”

Bow had, and he nodded, almost bowled over by the sudden surge of enthusiasm, “You, uh, did this kind of thing with the Horde?’

“Yeah. It was supposed to be training – everything was supposed to be training – but it was a lot of fun!” Adora nodded decisively, “We should try to plan an assault! I’ll go see if I can find anyone.”

Bow watched as Adora left the room, still a little stunned. Well, this would probably be interesting, at least.


	6. I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate theory regarding Caterina's obliviousness in Hamefura. 120 words, so not at all a drabble.

“Okay,” Caterina was muttering to herself, “Just need to navigate this damned holiday without giving any signs that we like one more than the other…”

The tray her maid was carrying dropped to the ground. Caterina had long been pursued by eight different suitors, both male and female, and had never given any sign of realizing, “…You - you knew?”

“Oh damn! Yes, Alice I knew. I may be an idiot, but I’m not _stupid_. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“But why…?”

“Because they’re all my friends, and I know – I _know_ – that they can find happiness together. But not if they’re busy hating each other because they weren’t picked.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” The maid said, with a solemn nod.


	7. “Who gave you that black eye?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Untitled Goose Game fic, of all things.

He thought over the events of the previous day. The goose, the broken dartboard, all the tomatoes, suddenly strewn about, his customers scared off, and finally, the bucket dropped on his head. And the honking. The awful, horrible, terrible honking. But how embarrassing would it be, to admit that the damned goose had _won_ , had gotten one over on him _again_. 

He made the only choice he could bear, “Didn’t get a good look at ‘im – was dark out. No one we knew, I think. Threw him out as fast as I could, and didn’t stop to get his name.”


	8. "I don't do hugs"

The child held up their hand, warding, as the woman leaned in.

“I don’t… do hugs.” They whispered hesitantly.

The child braced, for they knew where this lead. ‘Don’t be disrespectful.’ ‘It’s just a hug’, or, rarely, just a rough sweep into hostile arms without as much as an acknowledgement.

“I’m sorry, my child. I did not know.” The woman drew back swiftly, immediately giving them space, “Would you prefer a handshake? A Jaunty wave? Or perhaps we could touch elbows.”

This drew out startled laughter, and an offered elbow.

And then, a shy smile. Maybe this would be okay.


	9. "If I die, I'm going to haunt your ass"

“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”

“You’re _not_ going to die.”

The vastness of space stood out before me, starts shining brightly, putting the obvious lie to her reassuring words.

“There’s a thin sheet of glass between me and vacuum and everywhere else. And all I have is your word that you’ve got it fixed this time.”

“And three unmanned tests.”

“ _Unmanned_.”

“Are you actually asking me to call off the test?”

“No.” Supplies were already running low, we needed to get down to the planet.

“Then I’m pushing the button.”

“If I die-!”

The engines fired.


	10. (sunset)

See a lake. See the trees around it, green needles covered in white drifts. See the mountains standing tall above them, white-capped, but dark, silhouetted in the dusk.

See the red light of the setting sun, peeking out from behind the pass between the mountains, sending a single red ray across the water, and the snow, and warming you through the chill of winter.

See it finally disappear, and turn, and see the cabin. The windows glow with a warm yellow light.

The fire is crackling.

Dinner’s ready, and I’m calling you home.

That’s where we’ll be someday.

I promise.


	11. "I didn't know we were keeping track."

“I didn’t know we were keeping track.” The mage’s voice was dry, amused.

The small girl, perhaps eight years old, faced the mage’s across the board, affronted, “How can we not be keeping track!? I’ve beat you! Not always, but I’ve beat you!”

“Indeed? Set the pieces up again.”

The girl hastened to obey – and in no time at all, the mage was chuckling – the girl’s King was trapped, _again_ , and she reached the only conclusion that made sense to her, one which affronted her pride, “You were _letting me win_!?”

“This is not a contest, Adora!” Came the sharp rebuke, as the surroundings dropped deeper into shadow. “You are a _child_ , and I am an _adult_. As you can see, a contest would not be fair. I have been playing the game… well, for at least twice as long as you have been alive, certainly.”

The girl considered her seven-and-three-quarters years on Etheria, and the sheer expanse of twice that time, “…oh. So I can’t beat you for real? Not ever?”

“Not _today_ , child. Someday, perhaps.” The mage’s mask was level with the girl’s face across the table, “You are special, as I have said, and you will have need of the skills this game teaches, if you are to succeed.”

The mask hid the mage’s face, but the girl could hear the rare note of warmth in her voice. And she thought she knew how to keep it there.

“Okay.” The girl said, “Can we play again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadowweaver remains a terrible mother.


	12. (A visit to the hospital)

You’re here again, like you are every week. The first time, your mom dragged you here. Not anymore.

You already saw the reindeer. He talked at you, unprompted. It seemed to leave him happier, when his daughter arrived. He isn’t _happy_ , of course, but how could he be?

You take a deep breath, placing your hands on the keys. The air smells sharp -- antiseptic.

The song is gentle, sad, and sweet. You hope Rudy hears. You hope Noelle hears. The condolences you won’t give him. The hug you can’t give her. 

The song can’t substitute. 

It’s all you can give.


End file.
